


Crowley's Complicated Love Life

by boredom



Series: Crowley and Queen (A Friendship to end all Friendships!) [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Crowely is a drama queen, M/M, Pining, Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Queen - Freeform, Relationship Advice, Unrequited Love, crowley is an idiot, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 09:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boredom/pseuds/boredom
Summary: Crowley finds love advice from a not so unsuspecting place. AKA: Why Crowley decided to stop running around the world and finally settle in London.





	Crowley's Complicated Love Life

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen a lot of people writing about Crowley talking about his relationship with his plants and coming to some sort of realization and I love that trope. I also decided to put my own spin on it and as we all know, Crowley definitely knew Queen back in the day.

“And like, he gave me holy water. He GAVE me holy water. That means that he at least, on some level, likes me, right?” Crowley took another swig from the bottle of… something alcoholic. It tasted like hard liquor. 

He had been downing bottles for the better part of the evening, trying to sort out his feelings. The only problem was the more he drank, the more muddled his mind got. But he couldn’t stop drinking. What, were you stupid? The moment he stopped drinking and sobered up he would get scared of his feelings and run off again. Maybe if he kept talking he’d come to some sort of conclusion. 

“And I like him well enough.” Ah, that was a lie if he had ever told one, and not even a fun sort of lie. He needed to be truthful. Yes, that was the only way to move forward. “And when I sssay like I mean Like. Like with a capital L. Like Like.” 

“Yeah, we get it.” 

“Do you though?” He waved a bottle vaguely in a vague direction, making sure to be very vague about who he was talking to. 

The room was hot and the walls seemed to be spinning. Or maybe it was just Crowley. He should really stop spinning. But he was sitting down. Did the sofa have wheels on it?

“No, Crowley, the sofa doesn’t have wheels and you’re not spinning. You’re just shit-faced.” 

Ah, well that solved that problem. He continued. “And he’s ssso stupid. With his ssstupid blond hair and hisss stupid pretty eyes and his stupid rosy cheeks looking like a ssstupid cherub.” 

He sat up and waved the bottle around again. “Did you know that he was actually a model for Renaissance artists? Titian, Raphael, Michael Angelo, they all painted his stupid, perfect face.” He made a face. Why were Renaissance artists all named after stupid angels. It burned his tongue to say fucking Michael’s name. 

“And I definitely did not buy up a bunch of paintings that I currently have locked in a vault somewhere because they were sketches of Aziraphale and they got his stupid perfect stupid chubby thighs drawn perfect.” 

Another swig of the bottle. Crowley just realized it was vodka. He didn’t really care for vodka, but something strong was needed for his conversation.

“And he wears this stupid tartan all the time. You know he had it specially made for him? Angel’s Tartan, I think isss what it’s called. He looks so stupid in it. It definitely does not make him look hot or anything. And I'm definitely not glad the stupid thermos has its design so I can look at it and think about him.” 

He finished off the last few drops, put the bottle down with a thunk and rolled his head to look at them. 

“So, what do you guys think? Does he like me?” 

Freddie, Roger, Brian, and John stared back at him with varying degrees of confusion on their face. 

“I’m confused,” Brian said. 

“We all are.” John took a swig of alcohol and wondered what he did in his past to deserve having to deal with two drama queens. 

“I get the whole ‘angel and demon’ metaphor.” Brian paused and furrowed his brow. “But what’s the holy water a metaphor for?” 

Crowley stared blankly at them. What did he mean “metaphor”?

“I think it’s about sex.” Roger said. 

Freddie rolled his eyes. “Why would sex be a suicide pill? It’s not like it can kill you.” 

“Maybe dangerous, kinky sex? Like the kind where they choke you,” Roger suggested. He had to admit, the whole sex metaphor thing didn’t really work, but he couldn’t figure out what else it could possibly mean. Sex was usually a good guess when it came to weird symbolism and metaphors. 

“Why would a man,” John started, “who was clearly brought up in some sort of hellscape of a conservative evangelical home be into kinky, dangerous sex?” 

They were getting off topic. Crowley had to rein them back in so they could deal with his problem. “It’s not about sex. I just want to know if Aziraphale likes me.” 

“So that you can have sex with him?” Freddie suggested.

“No! Yes! No, no. I definitely don’t want to have sex with him. Why would I want to have sex with him?” 

“Because he has a ‘fat bottom that makes the rockin’ world go round’,” Roger said, rolling his eyes. 

Crowley gasped. “How dare you! Gawking at him and treating him like some sort of walking sex dream come true.” He ought to smite Roger for that comment. Could demons smite? Angels could smite. So demons should be able to smite to. But in a more demony way. 

“I’m quoting you, Crowley.” Roger said, sounding very bored by the whole exchange. 

Crowley thought for a moment. When did he sit and talk about Aziraphale’s ass? 

“Right before you started talking about the time you guys ate oysters in Rome together.” Brian supplied. “That sounds like a euphemism for something. I swear it is.” 

Crowley had to get better about controlling his tongue. He wasn’t meaning to say these things out loud. How much had he had to drink? His vision was currently double and he thought he counted eight bottles of vodka, so there definitely four on the table. Maybe three of those he polished off by himself. 

“Look, Crowley,” John said, leaning forward and looking very serious despite having a weird cloud of frizzy, teased hair around his head. The seventies were weird, man. “Look, do you actually want a relationship with Aziraphale or not?” 

Crowley stared at him. There was something about John that he knew could lend itself well to the conversation. He just had to figure out what it was. 

“Wait!” He cried. The guys all jumped. “Wait, you wrote the one song.” He flopped his hand at John. When did his wrists get so floppy. He should probably stop; this might be a sign he was turning back into a snake. He wondered if Aziraphale would still like him if he was a snake. 

“I wrote a lot of songs,” John said, surprised by the sudden bout of energy. 

“Yeah the one that goes ‘ooh, you making me live now honey'….” How did the rest of it go? “Da da da da dum da da da.” Yeah, that sounded about right. 

“Yep,” John nodded. “Yeah, ‘You’re My Best Friend’.” 

“Yeah! How do you do that?” 

“Write a song?” 

“No, have sssex with your best friend. And make him tea and stuff in the morning and eat dinner with him on a regular basis. How do you do that?” Crowley said. Now they were getting somewhere. John seemed happily married to a person. Granted, they were both human. But Crowley and Aziraphale were both occult so maybe the differences between humans and occult creatures would cancel out. 

“Uh, um.” He looked at the others who shrugged. “Um, I guess first you have to ask him out on a date.” 

Crowley scoffed. “I have asked him out on a date. When he gave me the holy water. He sssaid he didn’t want to go anywhere.” Weren’t these guys paying attention at all?

“If I remember correctly,” Freddie said, treading carefully, “you only offered to drive him somewhere. You didn’t actually ask him out on a date.” 

Crowley made a face. Sure he had asked Aziraphale where he had wanted to go; but it was implied that he would stay with him for a period so it would technically be considered a date. 

“Freddie’s right,” Roger said. “If everything you told us is true, minus the bits about the unicorns and stuff, then the only time you’ve sought him out was when you wanted something from him. He’s the one who’s suggested meeting up without any ulterior motives.”

“No, that’s not true. The nazis. I met up with him without any ulterior motives.” And saved his ass. That should count for some sort of first date points. Right? 

“Yeah, but you immediately offered him a lift home afterwards. Did you invite him to dinner or anything?” 

“No. But what about the time in Rome?” 

“He asked you out.” 

“The time in the 1800s?” 

“You asked him there for holy water, got into an argument and didn’t see each other for decades.” 

Brian leaned over to Freddie. “Why is no one acknowledging this lunatic timeline he’s given us?” 

“It’s best if we just play along. I’m assuming there’s at least some truth to it.” 

“That time in the 1960s.” 

“We’ve been over this. He sought you out, you offered to drive him somewhere and he turned you down.” Roger groaned. This was not going as well as he had hoped. 

Freddie decided to put a stop to it. “When was the last time you actually saw Aziraphale?” 

Crowley looked at him and blinked. He tried to muddle through his drunk brain to create some semblance of a timeline. “When he gave me the holy water?” 

“Yeah but after that?” 

Crowley was quiet. Everyone groaned. 

“You mean to tell me you haven’t actually talked to him in years?” John cried. “No wonder you’re not getting anywhere with him.” 

“It’s not like I know his number or anything,” Crowley grumbled, trying to figure out if that was a valid excuse or not. It didn’t feel like it, but to admit that would be to admit his own fault in all of this. Crowley picked up a bottle of vodka and frowned when he discovered it was empty. He almost sobered up before remembering that a magically refilled bottle of vodka was likely to cause a stir. 

“He works at a bookshop in Soho. Wander around there for an afternoon. You’ll find it.” Brian was banging his head on the table.

“Crowley, darling, you have to see each other more than once a decade if you want this relationship to go anywhere,” Freddie said. And he thought his love life was complicated. 

“He probably doesn’t love you,” John said. 

Crowley deflated.

“Because you’re never around him.” He quickly added. “You need more time than an afternoon together once every few years. No wonder he thought you moved to fast for him. At this point you might as well be well-respected acquaintances.” John flopped back in his chair, exhausted by the amount of work he was having to put in to fix this weird relationship. 

“Ssso, what should I do? Move into the bookshop--”

“No!” Everyone cried at once. 

Roger laughed stiffly. “That might be moving a bit too fast. Maybe meet up with each other more than once a year?” 

“And without any ulterior motives,” Brian added. 

“Yeah, just go out to lunch because you want to spend time together, not because you want a favor from him.” Freddie finished. 

Crowley narrowed his eyes and let his mind work through their suggestions. Maybe he should get an apartment here in London so he’d be closer to Aziraphale. It’d be easier to use their proximity as an excuse to get together. And Brian was right, it would be easy to find Aziraphale in one tiny neighborhood. Well, tiny compared to the whole world. Which Crowley had done before. 

He stood up, swaying slightly. “Alright, I’m going to find an apartment.”

John groaned and massaged his brow. “It’s three in the morning. No real estate agent will be up at this hour.” 

“Don’t you worry.” Crowley tripped over the table and landed face first on the floor. “Don’t you worry, I’ll find somewhere ssstylish.” He rolled off the table and stood up, this time getting to the door. “And it’ll be cool. The kind of cool place a demon would definitely sssettle down.” He missed the door handle. 

“It’s a beaded curtain, Crowley,” Roger said. “Just walk through it.” 

“It’sss going to be black. And ssstylish. Maybe with a houseplant or two.” He got wrapped up in the beads and was trying to untangle them. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got him.” Freddie stood up and spun Crowley until he was detangled. 

“Why do we keep him around?” Brian asked as Crowley fell down the stairs. 

“It’s going to be so ssstylish, Assiraphale will have to come live with me!” 

“He makes Freddie seem normal.” Roger answered. 

“Hey!” 

“I don’t think Aziraphale is going to want to live somewhere stylish. Based on how Crowley's described him he seems sort of old-fashioned.” John sighed. 

“We’re going to have to help this idiot go apartment shopping, aren’t we?” Brian said. The door slammed and they could hear the sound of the Bently screeching off into the night. No one noticed all the bottles of vodka had been refilled. 

Roger sank back in his chair. “Probably. Hopefully he isn’t picky.” 

Freddie sat back down in the chair. “I wonder what this Aziraphale is like.” 

“Oh,” Brian said, “he’s nice. He doesn’t seem to understand what the word ‘bookshop’ means, though. Refused to sell me anything.” 

“Wait, you’ve met him?” This was a new development. 

“Yeah, like I said, it’s a used bookshop in Soho. It wasn’t difficult to find." He thought for a bit on how to best describe the strange man. "He’s really comfortable and safe feeling. And he does look a lot like the cherubs in those old renaissance paintings.” 

“Fantastic,” John said with no hints of enthusiasm in his voice. “Can we go to bed now?” 

“Yeah.” Came the unenthusiastic reply. 

In the coming weeks, they’d find a lovely and cozy apartment for Crowley to rent. Brian assured them it would meld Aziraphale and Crowley’s personal aesthetics perfectly. To their horror, the next time they visited, Crowley had turned it into some sort of weird maze with plants that seemed absolutely terrified, if plants could be such a thing. And he put an honest-to-god throne in his office. The creme de la creme was a very suggestive statue in his hallway.

(“Are you sure they’re wrestling?” Roger asked upon seeing the statue for the first time.)

But all was well because Crowley actually had a date with Aziraphale the following afternoon and did not have any ulterior motive to going out with him. All in all, they considered it a roaring success.


End file.
